The new God (2)

The Supreme Being summoned me onto His cloud. 

“Ah, Wendle, thank you for coming to see me.” 

“I could hardly disobey a Summoning,” I said. 

“Indeed.” The Supreme Being seemed lost in thought for a moment.  “Drizzle isn’t it,” he said eventually.  

“Drizzle and wet mist.” 

“Wet mist. Yes, that's the thing Wendle. I hear you’ve introduced Red mist, is that right?” 

“Yes, I felt people didn’t really take notice of wet mist, so I made it red. More distinctive. People notice.” 

“Yes,” he said, reading from a clipboard, that appeared in his hands as if by summons.  “Bloody great red clouds of blood-like dew, that dye your clothes and skin bright red when exposed to it.” 

“Impressive isn’t it.” 

“It’s certainly been noticed, Wendle.” 

“I’ve started to get my own worshippers, already,” I said. “They call them ‘The Bloody Wendellites.” 

“It’s not all about worshippers, Wendle.  Fling is not happy.” 

“Fling?” 

“The thunder god. The guy with the hammer.” 

“He can do red thunder if he wants, I’m happy to share.” 

“Red thunder? Thunder is a noise, red is a colour.” 

“He’s a god isn’t he, surely he’s not bound by these things, he could make a red noise if he really wanted to. 

“My point is Wendle that with your red mist and Bloody Wendellites you’ve rather stolen his thunder.” 

“But he’s still got thunder,” I said. “I’ve just got drizzle and wet mist. Red, wet mist.”